


Proposal Ficlets

by ponticle



Series: 'The Proposal' Universe [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bisexuality, Cullistair, Drabbles, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Unrequited Love, cullen x alistair - Freeform, dragon age modern alternate universe, little fics associated with my bigger work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-05-11 21:04:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 3,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5641942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponticle/pseuds/ponticle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a series of short pieces, all taking place within the universe of "The Proposal." These didn't fit into the larger work for one reason or another, but I didn't want to just leave them. :) They are not in any particular order, but if you've read the major work, it will be relatively easy to tell generally where they fit.</p><p>(In case you haven't read it yet, here's the link to the big story: http://archiveofourown.org/works/4261329. "The Proposal")</p><p>Happy Reading!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alistair

* * *

 

“I’m perfectly capable of having a variety of truths that are incongruous,” said Alistair.

He was ready to continue explaining it, but Cullen interrupted him.

“I know exactly what you mean,” said Cullen.

Alistair was worried that he had overstepped his bounds earlier. Whenever he got into it with Cullen, he ended up giving too much advice. Even as he formed opinions and shared them he wondered where they came from--they were _often_ fabricated and _rarely_ what he actually thought. Something about Cullen made him obstinate.

“Do you think this is going to give you closure?” asked Alistair.

“Maker,” exclaimed Cullen, “I’m _so_ glad you said that because I didn’t think of it until now… this is why I love talking to you,” he sputtered.

Alistair stopped listening at **_love_**.


	2. Cullen

* * *

 

“This song is going to make me think of you for the rest of my life,” said Alistair.

Cullen didn't look away from the road, but the right corner of his mouth curled.  “You've told me that before,” he said quietly.

“I didn't think you'd remember that,” said Alistair.

“ _That_ , I will always remember,” said Cullen. It was _true_ too. The day Alistair first said it, Cullen was driving to work and saw the message pop up across his phone, which was mounted on the dashboard. He couldn't respond then, but he pushed the home button and said, “play song: such great heights.” The whole rest of the trip he listened to it on repeat. That day, he _nearly_ canceled his wedding. He _nearly_ called Alistair and told him he loved him. He _nearly_ stopped the car. _But he didn't._

“Did you think I was _so_ lame?” laughed Alistair.  “As soon as I sent that text I regretted it.”

Cullen suppressed a laugh, but raised an eyebrow, “no...” It had been over a decade since he received that text, but something stopped him from explaining the car ride.

_I thought it was sweet—and it nearly destroyed me._

“Well, it's still true,” said Alistair.

“Yeah, I think so too,” said Cullen. He turned to look at Alistair for just a second and smiled. Alistair gripped Cullen's hand, which rested gently on the shifter between them.

With the city barely a speck in the rearview mirror and nothing discernible in the distance, Cullen knew he would always remember this moment— _and_ its historical counterpart. This was what love felt like.


	3. Alistair

* * *

“I think I got married because you broke your hand,” said Alistair. He hadn't been talking—there was no context for his assertion.

“What?” asked Cullen.

“I was going to trap you on our clinic abroad trip and tell you all my feelings— _you_ were going to break off my engagement,” said Alistair. He looked wistful.

Cullen raised an eyebrow, “I was?”

Alistair laughed, “ _in my mind_ , at least… Anyway, then you broke your hand and couldn’t go. So I came home and got married.”

Cullen roughly rumpled Alistair's hair and pulled him across the sofa into a hug.

“How many _more_ secrets do you have?” asked Cullen. Their noses were just an inch apart.

“Probably a _lot_ … I'm a very secretive person,” answered Alistair. He tipped his head to the side and Cullen saw his pupils widen.

“Tell me another one…” Cullen kissed Alistair's cheek and wrinkled his nose at the stubble.

“Well… That same summer I tried to _not_ hate your girlfriend. Every time I saw her with you my skin crawled and I wanted to die… But it wasn't _her_ fault—I had to keep reminding myself of that,” explained Alistair.

Cullen laughed.

“Because… I really didn't hate her at all. I actually quite _liked_ her,” continued Alistair.

“You liked her?” Cullen was incredulous, “you were the _only_ one… everyone else thought she was sort of a snob.”

“I thought she was _great_ , actually—really powerful. I just envied her position…” He looked pointedly at the space between them. “I envied that she could touch you anytime she wanted…” He wrapped his arms more tightly around Cullen's chest. “I envied that she could kiss you,” he tipped his chin until their lips met. “And _mostly_ I envied that she could walk around with you and people acknowledged her as the _most_ important person in your world… That's who _I_ always wanted to be.”

“You _are_ ,” interrupted Cullen.

“Well… Back then…” Alistair blushed.

“You were then too…” said Cullen.


	4. Alistair

* * *

“I guess I feel some regret…” said Cullen. “...regret that I never gave her a chance.”

“I think you need to give yourself a _break_ ,” said Alistair. He furrowed his brow pointedly even though Cullen couldn’t see him on the other end of the phone, “At that time in your life, you didn’t _have_ anything to give.”

Cullen inhaled sharply.

“...at _that_ time, you were going through a lot,” continued Alistair, “you were trying to figure out who you were. You wanted to make _changes_. That was the weekend we walked on the beach together... you were too cold… you talked about so many things… remember?”

“Yeah…I thought I could do that back then…” equivocated Cullen.

“You still can,” said Alistair.

“How do you know?” Cullen’s voice sounded thin.

“Because I _know_ you,” answered Alistair. “And underneath all your sublimation… you’re the bravest person I know.”


	5. Alistair

 

 

* * *

 

_Hi_

Just one small word and Alistair’s face cracked. His smile—ear to ear—was overshadowed only by the intensity of heat he felt across his cheeks. One word and he was lost—hurtling toward joy he had rarely known. _Why?_ Because from Cullen, words meant more. For a person of few words, each one has disproportionate weight.

 _Hi_ could mean “I missed you,” or “I wish we were together,” or even... “I love you.” _It could_ , Alistair argued with himself.

More likely, _hi_ meant “hi.”

The smile faded almost as quickly as it had come. Alistair sighed and started his engine. Just before he started backing up, he saw a follow up message: “Can you call me when you have a chance?”

 

_Yes, Cullen. I can._

* * *

 


	6. Goodbye, Cullen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a divergence from the rest of the work, but it has some truth in it that I think deserves attention. Super sad.

* * *

 

Alistair appraised his handwriting. It had changed a lot over the years. He was so out of the habit of writing without a keyboard that his hand was starting to cramp. Nevertheless, he knew he needed to keep writing. A hand-written letter was something Cullen would understand and appreciate.

"I'm not trying to ruin your life," he began. Alistair's internal monologue invalidated the words before the ink was even dry. "I don't want to own you," he tried again.

 

_No. Neither of those will do._

 

He scratched the words out, but hated the mess. Roughly, he ripped the page in two and prepared to start again.

"Cullen, this whole thing is heartbreaking."

 

_Yes. That is true._

 

"In the months since this began, I have had a lot of feelings about it. They have changed almost daily. The prevailing sentiment, however, is sadness."

Alistair re-read the paragraph to assess its validity.

 

_Yes. Keep going._

 

"In some other universe, we have a life. It's beautiful—full of adventure and fun and honesty and discovery. But we _can't_ have that here. In all the months since you got engaged I always asked myself, ' _to what end_?' Now, I can finally answer it— _none_. I have nothing to offer you except my eternal admiration and often inexplicable understanding. You're my favorite person on earth. I would love nothing more than to wake up next to you every day, but I _can't_ —you can't. We have made too many choices and ignored too many opportunities."

Alistair dropped the pen and pushed a hand through his hair. He wanted to destroy this draft as he had so many others, but he knew that would be a mistake—this was the first one that was _true_.

"So I guess I have to find a way to say goodbye," he continued. His fingers felt numb—he wondered if he could continue to grip the pen.

"This is the hardest thing that we could do…but it is _best_. And Cullen, it's _time_."

Alistair's mind was already swimming with retractions, mitigating circumstances, and rationalizations. He knew he needed to ignore them. This was the only option—the only outcome that would ever be.

 

_Goodbye, Cullen._


	7. Interim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am thinking about writing a few chapters of what happened in those 10 lost years while Cullen and Alistair weren't speaking. If I do... this is the beginning. :)

* * *

“So…” said Isabela, sipping her tea, “how _are_ you? Really?”

Alistair sighed. He wasn’t sure how to answer her. Every hour was different.

“Well, I’m still at the crying alone in my car stage,” he said.

Isabela smirked, “so what are you going to do?”

Alistair hesitated. He didn’t know.

“It seems to me that you have only one real option,” she said, “...you’re going to have to stop talking to him. You said you were done--don’t let that be an idle threat.”

Alistair clenched his jaw. He was still on the verge of losing it.

“Then I guess I’ll have to stop…” he said quietly. “I just don’t know _how_. If it were easy, I would have done it 8 years ago.”

Isabela smiled knowingly.

“It’s just so _unfair_.” Alistair covered his face in his hands. His voice was muffled by his fingertips. “All the reasons he doesn’t want me are the same reasons I can’t escape him.”

Isabela sighed and wound a finger through her dark curls. “Well, Al… No one promised you _fairness_.”

Alistair knew she was right, but hearing it aloud didn't help. He felt like he was going to be miserable forever.

 

_But he wasn't._

 

The days wore on. Each one was a little easier than the one before--at least within an acceptable margin of error. Some mornings he woke up and forgot that his life was in ruin until he slipped up. He made his coffee too sweet like Cullen drank it or he accidentally rubbed the back of his neck with his palm.

 

_Then he remembered._

 

Bitterly, he'd swear and hang his head; but he didn’t wallow--he _straightened._ Each day that he picked himself up and moved forward, it was easier. Until one day, he didn't hurt at all. On _that_ day he woke up, stretched his limbs to the four posters of his bed, groaned at the beams of sunlight intruding through the window, and didn't think of Cullen. He brewed his coffee, checked his email, and didn't give Cullen a thought.

 

 _That_ was the day Cullen called. Alistair wasn’t with his phone at the time--he saw it as a missed event that night. He thanked the maker that he hadn't seen it because he doubted he would have been able to choose “ignore.”

 

“So… What should I do?” he asked Isabela frantically.

“What do you _mean_?” Isabela looked flabbergasted, “you're not going to _do_ anything. Delete the message and block his number.”

Alistair squinted at her. _Was she serious?_

“Al,” said Isabela, “don't put yourself in this position again… He made _his_ position very clear.”

“But…” he hesitated, “shouldn't I at least _listen_ to the message?” The phone was laying tantalizingly on the table between them.  His fingers twitched over the screen.

“No.” Isabela grabbed the phone. The message was gone before Alistair had a chance to argue.


	8. Alistair

 

* * *

 

**Alistair**

“You can sing _too_?” asked Icis. She was laughing and sun danced off the dark lenses of her sunglasses.

“What?” Alistair didn’t know he had been humming. It was a nervous habit he thought he’d overcome.    

Cullen rolled his eyes and smirked, “He sings _really_ well… he used to do it competitively.”

“Oh…” Alistair blushed. “Thanks…”

“Seriously,” Icis cocked her head to the side and peered over the top of her glasses, “is there _anything_ you can’t do?”

“I’m terrible at sports,” answered Alistair. “Anything with a projectile or a stick… forget it.”

Cullen stifled a laugh.

“...but he thinks he could do _anything_ with enough time,” interjected Bella. She leaned into the picnic table and rolled her eyes in a way that Alistair knew—it wasn’t _mean_ ; it was an act of endearment.

“Well... yes…” Alistair laughed, “With enough time I could _learn_ anything; I’m pretty sure.”

Icis looked knowingly at Cullen, “Maker, you sound just like _this one_.” She tapped Cullen’s chest with her forefinger and leaned into him.

Alistair suppressed a shudder as he tried to ignore the pit of embers in his stomach.

“Until I met Alistair, I never knew anyone else felt like that,” said Cullen.

“You mean you didn’t know any other narcissists?” asked Bella. She looked at Icis—the joke was clearly meant to engender comradery between them.

“Do you know what you two are _like_ to be around?” asked Icis. She looked incredulous, although she was still smiling. “Do you actually _like_ other people who are like you?”

Alistair and Cullen looked at each other in feigned disgust, “no!” They both shouted emphatically.

Alistair winced at the lie. Cullen was the person he lied to most on earth and, simultaneously, the only one he never _wanted_ to lie to—the only one with whom he craved transparency.

“It’s a unique situation,” said Alistair absently.

“I’ll say,” said Icis. “At least you both found someone who gets your brand of _weird_.”

Alistair’s face was placid; his voice easy. _On the inside, he was crying._

* * *

 


	9. Alistair

* * *

“Did I ever tell you how Icis and I met?” asked Cullen.

_Please don’t tell me._

“No,” said Alistair, “you haven’t.”

It was late and the monotony of the highway had Alistair thinking about the past. He remembered what it felt like to be young— _younger_ … he was still on the edge of his 30th year, but he felt the _weight_ of his adulthood like Atlas holding the globe.

“It’s a pretty good story,” said Cullen.

Alistair didn’t dare look at him. He stared into the darkness out the passenger-side window. It didn’t matter, though; he _knew_ the expression Cullen would be wearing—easy, light, carefree: the look of someone who _doesn’t know_ he’s breaking someone else’s heart.

“So I was at a friend’s house…” began Cullen.

Alistair let the details drift over him while he imagined a scenario where Cullen told the story of how _they_ met. The vision made him smile. They would sit next to each other on a couch somewhere—it might be Christmas or Thanksgiving. Cullen’s hand would be on Alistair’s knee. Alistair would blush and laugh at all the right points in the story without a single rehearsal—because it would be _true_.

“So we spent the whole night together—I didn’t even _see_ anyone else in the whole place,” said Cullen.

Alistair winced—the harsh transition from daydream to reality settled like a boa constrictor across his chest.

“Did I tell you how she knows my ex?” asked Cullen.

“No,” said Alistair.

“Yeah… she rented a room from her!” he laughed. “Isn’t that insane?”

“What a coincidence,” said Alistair.

His mind was still a million miles away— _with Cullen on that couch_. In the future that would never be.

* * *

 


	10. Cullen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of these have been melancholic lately... here's a happy one. :)

* * *

 

Cullen never appreciated white noise. He wasn’t the type to fall asleep with the TV on or one to invest in noise-making machines. _But Alistair was_. The first night they spent together as a couple, Cullen thought he was going to be driven insane. The light from the TV flickered obtrusively and he felt tortured by each burst of unmitigated sound.

At 3:30am, he reached across Alistair’s chest for the remote. He tried to move noiselessly. Leaning onto his forearm, he brushed past Alistair’s cheek and stopped dead. He didn’t even _breathe,_ for fear of waking him.

Alistair nuzzled into his pillow, still deeply asleep.

Resuming his quest, Cullen grasped the remote as carefully as possible, turned back onto his side, and hit the power button.

Alistair shot up—suddenly fully awake. “Are you _okay_?” he sputtered.

Cullen rolled his eyes, “I haven’t slept for _one minute_.”

Alistair blinked at him in the darkness.

They both stared at each other for what felt like an _unnaturally_ long moment. Cullen was already beginning to form a diatribe about how this sleeping arrangement was _never_ going to work when Alistair dropped—his head tucked snugly into the space below Cullen’s clavicle, hand resting gently on Cullen’s chest.

Cullen sighed, but kissed the top of Alistair’s head nevertheless.

“I love you, Cullen,” whispered Alistair.

 _That_ was the moment Cullen realized: he could sleep with the TV on, with noisy neighbors, with lights flashing, or with any number of distractions—as long as Alistair was in bed with him.

* * *

 


	11. Alistair

* * *

 

Alistair

“Hey, homie…” said Cullen.  
 _What? Are we in a gang now?_  
“Listen, I just thought I'd call my conscience…” continued Cullen.   
_Oh, God… What horrible thing is he going to tell me this time?_  
“...I don't want to go to starbucks, right?”  
“With her?” asked Alistair. His voice barely concealed his trepidation.   
Cullen laughed--easy and light. “No… I mean, because of the calories.”  
Alistair smiled on the other end of the phone.   
“You definitely don't want to go to Starbucks,” answered Alistair.


	12. Alistair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The weekend before the accident Alistair doubts himself in a letter he never intends to send.

* * *

 

You’re sleeping two rooms away. If I think about it hard enough, I can almost hear you breathing. It’s a strange sort of torture—this lie I’ve maintained. I used to think we were both complicit, but now I know otherwise. My imagination was strong enough to trick me.

When you leave today it’s going to be exquisitely painful—just like it always is. Then I’ll see you again on Sunday. My heart will speed up—pulse in my throat and blush across the bridge of my nose. I’ll wonder how it’s _possible_ to be so excited to see another human being. And then we’ll near each other—I’ll break into calculated nonchalance. My body language _might_ betray me—it sometimes does. Arms open too wide or smile too full—brimming with _hope_.

I never knew that being around someone I _love_ could be this punishing.

Last night at the table, I was looking from you to Bella and back again. I was thinking, “These are my two favorite people in the world…” And it’s true. Only… I feel like I’ve never been able to express what _you_ mean to me in any way that is _permanent_ or _full_ or _true_. When you’re not here, I miss you like my oxygen supply has been cut off. I’m _unreasonably_ happy when I see your name pop up across my phone. I’m _disgusted_ by how much your opinion matters to me. I want to bury my face in your chest and breathe into you. I want to know every tiny thought you’ve ever had—every dream you’ve dared to dream.

I’m scared of what is coming next. Your wedding is going to be hard on me. That’s why I wanted a job: something important and time consuming to keep me preoccupied—to keep my mind off the fact that you’re _actually_ doing this. Off of the fact that we never got our act together in time to admit how we ( _I_ ) felt. Something to distract me from the hard reality that you were never mine to give.

You’re sleeping two rooms away, but I already miss you. The way I’ve always missed you—in my heart, in the depths of a soul I barely believe in. You’re the only person who has ever lived there—in that deep expanse of emotional ichor. Underneath my own sublimation and posturing—in the small, quiet, gentle, _yielding_ part of me. The part that wants to be swept up in your arms and cared for. The part that wants to be honest and good.

**You’re sleeping two rooms away—but it might as well be 1500 miles.**

* * *

 


End file.
